


The Academy for Gifted Young Women

by pocketsfullofstones



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Boarding School, F/F, Female Sherlock, Female Watson - Freeform, Femlock, Femslash, Gear up for slash in later chapters, Ladies liking ladies, School, Takes a while to pick up, Teenlock, she's still named john for no reason, yes it's femlock because it's hard for me to write male characters get off my back mom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-03 09:19:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketsfullofstones/pseuds/pocketsfullofstones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock didn't like going to boarding school, and she sure as hell didn't like having a roommate. She'd prefer if they weren't involved with each other's personal business, but when they have to share almost every minute of every day together, it's hard to avoid noticing the peculiar behaviour coming from John. So, she decides to experiment. Unfortunately for John, sexual tension is one of the variables.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unwanted

"The Academy for Gifted Young Women", that's what they called it--but not many of its attendants were gifted. They were the usual brutish types, the ones who thought your worth was determined in how fast you could run a kilometer or some other so-called "athletic achievement".

Sherlock stared at the building's bronzed sign displayed in front of the lot. She wondered how far she could get away from this place before Mycroft found her and drove her back. Three years left, she thought, and in her head it was to rhyme with scum.

Her dorm room this time was not just for herself, like she had been so gracefully been gifted with the year previous. No, now she was to endure the whinings and prattlings on of one of those girls she despised so much. Sherlock set her bag on the bottom bunk bed, and sat beside it.

The walls were painted a faded sky blue, with bright lines steaming in horizontally along the wall opposite her. A wooden desk was pushed up against that wall, and a cheap fold-up metal chair accompanied it. This was hardly enough space for one person, let alone two. Seemingly in condolence, the room had its own attached bathroom with a working shower, so  that perhaps the girls would have some privacy.

Sherlock went through her bag and unpacked, setting her books and notepads on the desk, and putting her clothes in the closet. When she was done, she noticed a girl standing in the hallway.

“Hi, I’m John Watson”, she said with a smile, holding out her hand for Sherlock to shake.

Sherlock frowned. “Odd name for a girl”, she muttered, ignoring her hand. “Top bunk is yours.”

“Oh, thanks”, John said. She walked into the room and threw her bags on the top of the bunk bed. “Sorry, what’s your name?” she asked.

“Sherlock Holmes.” She sat at the desk and started going through her notebooks, and found the new journal she’d bought to keep record of the year. She stared at it blankly for a while, pen in hand, before she sighed and got up. “What classes do you have?”

“Um...let’s see, shall we?” John burrowed her hands in her pockets and produced a folded square of paper. “English, History, Creative Writing, Athletics, Algebra, Science, Art. In that order, each day.”

She frowned. “I have the same, except for the electives.”

“Oh, and what are your electives?”

“Criminal History. I left the second one blank, and they chose Health for me.” Sherlock scoffed, indignant. “We’ll see how that goes.”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll be great friends, seeing how we have almost every class together.”

“I don’t do ‘friends’”, Sherlock said, crossing her arms. “We may have the same classes but that doesn’t make everything that happens into a ‘bonding experience’, understood?”

“I--” John cut herself off, stunned. Then she nodded. “All right then, I’m just going to--”

“I don’t care.”

John furrowed her brow and scrunched her nose, about to insult her new rude roommate, but thought better of it and left without another word.


	2. Strangeness is in the Eye of the Observer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I SAID it has a slow pick-up...

Sherlock’s expression was blank when John entered the room that night.

John had decided to go to the mess hall and check out the meal plan (and it looked surprisingly delicious), and had ran into some people with the same intent. She had made a new friend: Michelle Stanford. She didn’t quite know what to think of the girl yet. She was overly friendly, the brand that often runs with naivety.

John walked back down the hall in leisure; she liked this place well enough. A quick look at her watch told her it was close to curfew, so the girl walked back to her dorm. Upon entering, she saw her rude-tempered roommate sitting on the floor. She was staring into the hallway, but her eyes focussed on nothing in particular.

John frowned, and waved a hand in front of Sherlock’s face. “Hello?”

Sherlock’s hand snapped up and clasped around her wrist. She looked up at the offender of her space, and instantly let go. “Defense mechanism”, she explained in reply to John’s confused look.

“I see.” She didn’t. John closed the door and turned around to see Sherlock sitting in the same place. “What exactly are you doing?”

“I’m thinking, what are _you_ doing?” she spat irritably. Her face relaxed and then she asked, “What time is it?”

“Nine o’ clock, why?” She climbed the ladder to her bunk, and grabbed her bags to start unpacking.

Sherlock didn’t reply, and sat at the desk. She opened her journal to the very first page and wrote:

_My roommate arrived today. Being myself has quickly gotten rid of the friendly (and quite frankly, annoying) need to greet me with useless pleasantries. She may try again tomorrow or perhaps in the next few days, but soon enough she will stop bothering me and I will get through this year being able to avoid listening to pedantic prattlings-on._

_It’s not her fault. But does this mean she deserves my kindness? I think not._

_Sherlock Holmes_

She shut the leather-bound journal and shoved it to the furthest corner of the desk. Sherlock got up, and to John’s horror, stripped before she got into her bed.

John stared at Sherlock, who was now covered with a not-completely-opaque white sheet. “You sleep in the nude?”

“Oh, you’ve figured that out, have you?” the girl replied. She was staring at the wood post, running a finger along the corner. “People tend not to bother you early in the morning if they don’t like what they find.”

“You’re very strange, do you know that?”

“I could say yes.”

She shook her head and continued unpacking. Even though her roommate was strange and rude, and she only knew two people here so far, she felt a certain sense of optimism creeping up on her.

The next morning, they were both abruptly woken up by the school’s bell. John’s watch informed her it was seven o’ clock, later than the normal time she woke up at home. When she turned over and looked off the side of the bunk, she saw Sherlock sitting on the floor again, fully dressed in her white shirt and black skirt. The uniform looked oddly loose on her.

John jumped down and took her uniform out of the closet. She somehow managed to brush her teeth with one hand and get dressed with the other. When she went to leave the dorm, she saw Sherlock still sitting in the same stony trance. John considered shaking her, but then she remember the consequences of merely waving her hand in front of the girl.

So instead, she wrote a note and taped it to one of Sherlock’s hands. Her fingers remained steepled in concentration, and it baffled John. But this was not time to be confused--this was breakfast time.

 


	3. Old Unrequited Lurve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, bless you all! Here's a longer chapter for taking an interest!

Sherlock came out of her silent reverie when the school bell rang for a second time, notifying the students it was time to head to their first period classes. She got up, and stumbled through her headrush and down the hall.

She ran to English class in the hopes that she would get a seat in the back corner, but she had no such luck. The only seat left was between Anderson and Donovan. She groaned at the girls’ stupid smiles and plopped into her chair with little care. She looked around for John, and saw she was chatting away with Sherlock’s old friend from primary school--Stamford.

“Alright now, hush”, the english teacher said, walking into the room. She was a frail woman in her late fifties, dressed all in purple. She picked up a piece of chalk and wrote on the giant blackboard: MRS. HUDSON.

Sherlock studied her closely, and saw when the teacher’s sleeve fell down her forearm for a brief moment--before she threw her arm down at her side and looked nervously at the class. Faded yellow markings decorated her wrist, as well as a horrible purple bruise in the middle of her forearm. This woman was repeatedly abused.

Anything and everything the woman said from then on was ignored by Sherlock. She was just going to hand out some stupid “let’s all get to know one another!” form like every other teacher did the first day. But when the third bell rang, and all the students clamoured around each other to reach their next class, Sherlock waited patiently at her seat.

“It’s time to go to your next class now”, Mrs. Hudson said sweetly.

“I’m aware”, said Sherlock. She got out a piece of paper and a pen, and wrote down her home and mobile phone number. “If you need somewhere safe, call any time.” She left the number on the teacher’s desk and walked out.

History was held by a fidgety young man called Mr. Knight, but he was insistent on the “I’m not your teacher, I’m your friend” idea, and everyone called him Henry. Health was held by a friendly woman, Ms. Sarah, whose voice set Sherlock on edge. And at 11:30, the class widely known to American students as “Torture” (Physical Education/Athletics) began.

Now this teacher, Mrs. Kerbee, was not interested in knowing her students. She started them on jumping jacks and push-ups, and then they were tested on how many sit-ups they can do. Sherlock did not make it very far in any of those exercises, which earned many snide chuckles from all of her classmates--except for Molly Hooper and John Watson.

When the humiliation was over, all the students went to lunch. Everyone already had their group tables full of popular girls or athletic ones or even the ones people made fun of in orthodox schools--artistic girls. Sherlock sat at none of these tables and instead headed for the end of one of the long, abandoned tables.

It looked filthy, for a table nobody sat at. She hummed herself a tune whilst she ate her apple, looking at her surroundings. The girl even allowed herself a groan at what she managed to eavesdrop; girls were giggling at stories about another girl’s non-existent boyfriend.

She was _so_ involved with what was around her that she did not pay attention to who was in front of her. She had heard the footsteps and the squeaking of thigh against plastic, but did not bother to see who it was until she realize the person was saying her name.

“Sherlock!”

“What?!” she snapped, turning her head quickly. “Oh. John. I didn’t expect you to sit with me.”

“Why not? We are friends, aren’t we?” John asked sweetly.

“It’s not the best idea to be friends with someone like me.”

She laughed. “Are you trying to pull that whole ‘I’m a monster’ thing on me like in those sappy teenage romance books? I’ve got news for you, this isn’t a Stephanie Meyers novel.”

Sherlock narrowed her eyes. “Do you know why I’m sitting alone? It’s not because people don’t like me, although that _could_ be a reason, now that I think about it…” She shook her head. “That’s not the point. I _like_ being alone. I prefer it to gossip about who kissed who or who’s a disgrace for being a pregnant teenager, or…” Sherlock waved her hand in the air mindlessly to prove her point.

“Have you ever considered being nice to someone for a change? Having friends isn’t all about the gossip, you know.”

“If I ever knew how to be nice, I deleted it.”

“Deleted? Never mind, I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Look who’s learning fast.”

Algebra was taught by a suspiciously assertive teacher called Mistress Adler. Sherlock frowned at the thoughts that came to her mind when she heard the woman’s personal title. Every move she made was full of intent and purpose. When she praised a student for answering a question correctly, it sounded more as if she were praising a puppy...or a particularly submissive person.

Next class was Science, or, more correctly, Chemistry. Now, science was something Sherlock could get into easily. The teacher, who introduced herself as Doctor Stapleton, assigned everyone a partner as they got into the room.

“Now, I don’t want any complaining. These are your partners for the next quarter, and if you’re compatible enough, the rest of the year. I hope you’re excited to be friends with the person next to you, because you’re stuck with them for a while.”

Sherlock looked beside her, and saw a cute young girl staring back. She had chestnut brown hair, tied back into a low ponytail, and a pink blush to match.

“I’m Sherlock Holmes.”

“M-Molly Hooper”, the girl replied, and Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked. Then she looked into her lab partner’s eyes, and saw they were dilated. “Fantastic”, she muttered to herself. “I knew you looked familiar. We shared seventh year English, didn’t we?”

“Y-yeah”, Molly answered, looking down at her fidgety hands. “You never bothered to learn my name back then.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t bother remembering anybody back then. I suspect I haven’t changed much.” Sherlock sighed. “Is this going to be a problem? Because I can just--”

“No, not at all”, Molly interrupted, smiling widely. “I’m very good at science.”

“Well then, that’s...good.”

The last class was delivered unto Sherlock Holmes like a gift from the heavens: Criminal History. The study of all the most devious crimes committed paired with how the perpetrators were caught. It was taught by Mr. Lestrade.

Their assignment for the week was to plan out the perfect crime. They were to turn it in the next Monday, and the flaws in the students plans would be pointed out to them and instead of letter grades, they would be graded by how harsh their punishment would be in the real world, from”Got Away Scot-Free” to “Death By Lethal Injection."

 


	4. It's Just Transport

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, thank you, dears! This one's kind of angsty-ish, but it's a set-up for some food-representing-something-else play, and by god do I love writing the frustration in that.

The first day came and went without much of an incident. As did the next three. But it was on the fourth day that Sherlock inadvertently made a spectacle of herself.

It wasn’t her fault, not really. Mrs. Kerbee had the girls running a circuit. When Sherlock tried to excuse herself for some bullshit reason, Mrs. Kerbee wouldn’t hear it. Even then, Sherlock would have ignored her and sat down anyways, but the teacher threatened to call Mycroft over it.

So she ran. She ran until her legs hurt and her lungs felt like they had collapsed. But the second time she had to do a set of ten jumping jacks, she was unfortunate enough to overhear that they were to run the circuit three times. Sherlock tried to shake off her fear of her body betraying her, but it was to no avail as she collapsed in the middle of the dirt track two minutes later.

Girls laughed and ran past her, making a point to kick dirt in her face. Sherlock laid there, helpless as her lungs filled with dry mineral air. She dug her fingers through the dirt, wondering when she could get up without falling again.

She didn’t have to wonder long. John came running around the curve and noticed Sherlock laying in the dirt. She almost laughed at Sherlock’s trait of planting herself in whatever location just so she could think...but upon running closer, she realized Sherlock was not in quiet meditation. She had fainted or fell or…

John slowed down and got on her knees in front of Sherlock. “What happened?” she asked.

“My body has betrayed me, it seems”, came the bitter reply.

“Well, come on. Let’s get you up before the teacher notices.” John smiled wryly, and held out a hand for Sherlock. The frail-framed girl took it, and John slowly stood up, pulling Sherlock with her. “Can you walk on your own?”

“Let’s see.” Her attempt ended in falling again, but luckily John caught her in time.

“We should get you to the dorm room.”

“No.”

“What? Why?”

“We’ll get noticed.”

“Who cares if someone notices us? You need rest. And a shower--by God, you’re sweaty.”

“No…” Sherlock protested, but it was in vain as John easily picked her up bridal style and started walking. “This is so emasculating”, she complained.

“Well, don’t worry, you’re a girl. You’re not supposed to be masculine.”

She growled. “Still.”

John laughed. “Are you always so indignant about someone helping you? It’s quite adorable. Like a frustrated kitten.”

“Shut up.”

They made it to the dorm room without any more snickering comments from John, nor whinings from Sherlock. John lay the girl down in her bed, and sighed. “As light as you are, I’m sore.”

The girl did not reply as she quickly slipped into the sandman’s grasp.

When Sherlock woke up, it was four o’ clock. John was sitting at the desk, doing an assignment. “Shit. My classes…”

John tapped a short stack of papers without turning to look at her roommate. “We should talk about what happened.”

“There’s nothing to talk about”, she quipped, turning over to look at the wall. This bed wasn’t especially comfortable, but if she got a moment’s worth of silence she could probably fall back asleep. But of course she wasn’t that lucky.

“You collapsed in the middle of the circuit. That’s the easiest the we ever do in Athletics.” She sighed, and dropped her pencil on top of her algebra assignment. “When were you going to tell me you’re anorexic?”

“I’m not telling you _now_ , am I?”

“Stop fucking around, Sherlock! This isn’t a joke!” John yelled, standing up. She kicked the chair away, and bit her lip to stop from groaning at the pain in her toe. “It’s a serious problem.”

“Well, here’s the solution: Don’t make me your project.”

Her brow furrowed. “Do you not care? About anyone, even yourself?”

Sherlock rolled her eyes, and that was the end of the conversation for the night.

The next day, John sat with her at lunch with two trays. Sherlock refused her initial offer, but she ended up eating an entire serving of mashed potatoes. She forgot how good food could taste when it wasn’t her sister’s cooking.

Gradually, John did make progress with her, even with Sherlock’s accusations and insults thrown at her. She didn’t eat as much as John wanted her to, but she could not see her ribs cruelly outlined by thin, goosebumped skin, and this was enough to put her mind at ease.

And Sherlock actually started being nice to her. Maybe more than one good thing came out of this.


	5. You're Not as Quiet as You Think

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reposting because I accidentally deleted this chapter.

Dessert was Sherlock’s favorite meal. Well, technically it wasn’t a meal, but that’s not the point. Sweet treats with no value in terms of knowledge or reasoning. They just sat there, waiting for you eat it.

She didn’t eat dessert like a regular person, and this caused discomfort for John. Sherlock would slowly close her eyes, and, at a leisurely pace, she’d stick out her pink wet tongue and lick the cream off her strawberry. Her tongue flicked along the small red fruit, moaning obscenely at the tastes that sent her senses in overload as she took a bite, her teeth puncturing its soft, juicy flesh.

John cleared her throat, and that caught Sherlock’s attention. “Is there something wrong?”

“You sound like you’re licking something else, there”, she replied, looking pointedly at her roommate.

Sherlock smirked. “And what would you think of that, Dear John?”

Her eyes widened, and John looked away, trying to hide her deep red blush.

Sherlock was amused by John’s innocent (read: adorable) decency. This led her to continue with the erotic licks and moans she applied to her desserts, just to see John go red in the face.

One night, she woke up to a small jostle from the top bunk. Sherlock was ready to scold John for tossing and turning, but then she heard a soft gasp. She slowly sat up, so not to alert her roommate to her state of awakening. Another faint sway of weight, and another quiet gasp. If her ears weren’t so finely tuned she was sure she’d hear nothing.

She should stop listening--why did she care about whatever boy back home she was fondling herself over?

“Sherlock…” the voice of her roommate breathed.

Said girl froze. Her initial reaction (shock) slowly turned into a seductive smirk. She laid back down, and closed her eyes, her ears devoted to the lovely sounds.

 


	6. All One Needs is Finely Tuned Ears and Eyes. And a Sharp Mind Couldn't Hurt...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock observes John's turn-ons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another baby. Sorry, I've been busy packing. Actual smut to come soon!

To notice someone's turn-ons, all one has to do is observe. Which was good, Sherlock could do that. She could observe. 

#1 Displays of Intelligence.

Sherlock raised her hand, confident in her answer. As no one else had done so, Mistress Adler called on the young woman for the answer to the question "In a 45-45-90 right triangle, how do you solve for the hypotenuse, given the length of the legs?" 

"Multiply by the square root of 2" was the answer. Sherlock also went on to say that you could divide the hypotenuse by the square root of two to find the length of the legs, but everyone, save for John, stopped paying attention after the first sentence.

#2 Seductively Eating Food

Sherlock already knew this was the cause of many late-night "self love" sessions, and she kept it up, for two reasons: 1, she liked teasing John, and 2, she feared if she suddenly stopped, John would realize that Sherlock was aware of her attraction, and would furthermore believe that the attention was unwanted. This was far from the truth, however.

#3 Working Up A Sweat

This was not so much of a turn-on as it was Sherlock was drawing John's attention towards her without exposing her own knowledge. It was hard to go this route, and (sadly) it often ended in Sherlock losing consciousness while running. Sometimes it was her general frailty that refused to go away, and others it was pure exhaustion fro her lack of sleep.

 

This was all of the information Sherlock cared to gather on this particular part of her experiment. She was sure she could find many more things that made John all hot and bothered, but those would be less inconspicuous. The next part of her experiment? To work John up to a level of sexual frustration that increased during her every waking minute.


	7. Facing the Situation Head-On

Sherlock bit her lip and actually, audibly laughed. She hadn't been paying attention to what John had been saying, but it hardly mattered, because it brought the one-sided conversation to a halt. She moved one hand to wrap lightly around John's wrist, and the other to twirl a lock of hair around her finger. "You're quite humorous, John", she said, a charming smile spreading across her face. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"My brother did once, but I think he might have been being sarcastic..." John trailed off, looking down at Sherlock's hand, the girl's thumb softly tracing along her knuckles. Her head snapped up, as if shaking an idea off, and she continued talking.

Sherlock inwardly groaned, and continued listening.

 

That had been her third try to get John frustrated at her seemingly innocent actions. Now, it was time to be blunt. 

So Sherlock sat, naked, in the center of the room. Her perky breasts rose and fell with every deep breath. She concentrated on a hypothesis, just to pass the time. And the time did pass well, because it felt not a short few minutes before the door creaked open.

John sighed. "Is this a new thing, now? You know, if we were co-ed, you would get into so much trouble."

Sherlock frowned, and looked up at her roommate. Why wasn't this working? She slowly stood up, and watched as John averted her eyes. Maybe she had been reading it all wrong? But no, that was impossible. For god sakes, the girl played with herself at the thought of being in Sherlock's arms. 

"John, do you find me attractive?" she asked suddenly, holding the girl's chin gingerly, leading her to look in her eyes. John's pupils were dilated, which was a good sign.

"Why are you--"

"Can you cut the bullshit and give me a straight answer? Please", she added in earnest.

"Yes", John breathed, eyes darting to look at anything but Sherlock.

"Would you fuck me?" 

"No."

Her brow furrowed in insult. "Why not?" she asked. "I hear you at night...I pretend I don't, but I do hear you. You whimper and moan and your breath quickens and you whisper my name..." She wanted to deny her body's reaction, but she couldn't: Sherlock's heart was racing in her ears. "I hear you let out a breath after your climax, because if you didn't keep silent you know I would awake...and I pretend to be asleep as you look over the side, to make sure you haven't been caught. Tell me, deny my observations, but I know it's true. So I'll ask you can once more, John, and please tell me the truth...would you fuck me?"

John looked like she wanted to cry. "No, you idiot. I don't want to fuck you...I..."

Sherlock scoffed, and let go of John's chin, turning around. "Fine. But I'll have you know that was your only chance."

She put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, but the girl shook it off. It didn't halt her movements, though. She moved raven black hair from covering her neck, and planted a soft, wet kiss on her shoulder. She trailed kisses up to behind her ear, and whispered, "You never asked me if I loved you."

Sherlock bit her lip, and closed her eyes. It felt like a dream. Not a dream come true, nothing too fancy. She wouldn't allow herself that. But it did seem far from reality, and too lovely to be anything that happened to her, of all people. "Do you love me, John?" she asked.

"Yes."

She turned around, and let her lips reach John's, soft and wet and open and hungry for more. She wrapped her arms around her, and her tongue touched John's. It was foreign and lovely and she allowed it to invade her mouth as their noses touched and exhales mixed in the air. Her mouth tasted sweet and innocent and genuine, if those things even had a taste. Her eyes fluttered and her hand reached to run through John's short blond hair, softer than anything she'd ever touch, and her only complete thought was _I want to do this forever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhat like my own first kiss, except for John's not a cheating bitch. So, yeah. Also I'm pretty sure I'm didn't write hair getting in their mouths... But let's not get into that. Anyways, progress! Smut is coming soon, I swear. I'm not just dangling cheese. Let's have a round of applause for me, because my first kiss was with a girl and that will always be my trophy of lesbianism even in the "I'm not sure" stage. And let's have some golf-clapping for Audree, aforementioned ex girlfriend. P.S. I was moving your hand towards my breast, moron, and Toddlers In Tiaras is NOT an awesome show it just serves as a warning sign to those who might consider dating you. Good night or morning or whatever!


	8. "Study Break" is Code for "Come Here and Snog Me"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must apologize for not writing the smut scene in this chapter, but I have just watched Cracks, and the movie disturbed me to my very core. Also, in planning these girls' first time, I look back on my own. And to speak briefly and to the point, I do not look back upon it with fondness. I have tried to convince myself that it "doesn't count", but the memory will stick with me forever, and that is a mighty long time, is it not? Even if it does not count, it will always be my first and I will always be dissapointed in myself. That counts more than anything. 
> 
> So much for speaking briefly. Anyways, dears, have a wonderful holiday season and good night, day, afternoon, and evening to you all.
> 
> P.S. Imogene Poots is in it and she is just gorgeous. I love her "biting-my-lip" smile. She also plays a bigger role in Christopher and His Kind (brilliant movie, it has Matt Smith in it).

Kissing John was heaven. When they weren't in class or eating, they were snogging. Her tongue felt like silk, and tasted sweet. Sherlock didn't worry about doing anything wrong, because with every new movement, John's breath quickened and her heart raced even faster. She didn't worry about the moans ripped from her throat (she didn't even know they wanted to be released), because John smiled against her lips like every moan was a victory.It got to the point where they had to study in separate rooms, because one well-worded answer from Sherlock led to "You're very smart, Sherlock" to "I am aware" to "Brainy is the new sexy, did you know?", and the next thing they knew it was an hour later and they were just now breaking away to catch their breath.

  
A three-day weekend was coming up quickly, and this presented an opportunity for John. Sherlock had already stated that she was not going to be visiting family during that time. John had no plans either, and it seemed everyone else in The Academy for Gifted Young Women and their uncle Bob had plans. Only a few teachers would be on campus, and they would be grading papers or whatever boring nonsense they bothered themselves with. It was two months since they had "confessed their love" (she cringed--it sounded so girly), and she wanted to do something special for Sherlock. She never pushed John to go further than kissing, and always seemed content to stay where they were. So she figured she would reward Sherlock for being ever so patient.John thought Sherlock knew she read through the girl's journal, and she seemed not to care. So when she went in there to find out some of Sherlock's unspoken desires, she felt no guilt weighing down on her heart.

_Dreamt about John again. Not surprising, really, but it was different. She was...commanding, and confident. She held my wrists above my head while she kissed down my stomach...and the rest I dare not divulge. I called her 'Miss Watson'._

_> >She keeps haunting me at night. In my dream last night, she bit my lip until it bled, and smiled as if my breathy moan of a response was her greatest achievement. She likes to make me beg, make me ask permission to scream her name and to surrender to pleasure._

_> >She looked sexy in lacy red lingerie. _

_> >I worry that these truths would bother her. I dare not ask her to straddle my hips, to make me beg her to please, please fuck me, Miss Watson, because I just cannot stand any more of her relentless teasing._

_> >She makes me praise a deity I don't believe in with a few flicks of her tongue. She bites and sucks my skin, leaving contusions I could not possibly cover without being obvious. I disobey on purpose because even in her punishments, she is oh, so very rewarding. It just encourages me to be even more rude._

John frowned, and it slowly turned into a sultry smirk. She didn’t expect this from Sherlock, but she had to say it was matching in her own desires. She closed the book, and missed the most important entry of all.

_In my dream last night, I have discovered something more important than rude fucking, dominant or no. I...made love to her. By god, do those words make me cringe! But they are the only way to describe it. Instead of begging or teasing, it was gentle...heavenly. If I am not to have desires of the most devilish, I will allow myself the ones that are the purest I can conjure._

On the first day of their short break, John and Sherlock studied like nothing was out of the ordinary. John knew, however, that Sherlock was observant enough to see she was excited out of her own wits. She did not ask where John went when she left the compound, a heavy blush decorating her cheeks. Maybe Sherlock did not know where her destination was, or maybe she sought not to ruin the surprise for herself by deducing it further.It was at night that John returned, just in time for curfew. She wore her civilian's clothes, if a bit dressy. But all had purpose, and Sherlock must not discover her intentions, if she hadn't already.


	9. Remember This Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John get it on. Cue the romance music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally did it! And in time for the deadline I made for myself! I am the king (queen?) of the woooooorld! No? Fine, whatever. Anyways, I just wanted to say thanks to paleonpale, without whom I would have given up on this fic long ago. So thank you, my dear, and I sent you billions of cookies with my prized snail. 
> 
> Anyways, this is going to be my last update for a week or so, because school's about to start up again and I recall promising at least two fills for the Dragon Age Kink Meme. So thank you all, and have an awesome week!

Dinner was not served that evening; only a few leftovers remained in their mini fridge (bought by Sherlock’s sister to “encourage healthy eating habits”), and John supposed that would do. She heated up the beef stew from the very day before, and set two places on the floor. Sherlock was off doing god knows what, and that gave her the perfect opportunity to set this up. From her travels outside of the school she had bought two candles (one scented almost exactly like the smell of a book, and the other was "cupcake" scented, just because she liked the smell). She got one out and set it on the table. John didn't bother lighting it--it being removed from the bag was enough for the scent to waft around the room. And, even though it’s considered romantic, candlelight is not enough to eat dinner by. Sherlock would appreciate the practicality.

John went to the bathroom and took out what she had bought from a certain store that sold "underclothes". It was nothing tasteless, though--just a bra and pants that were somewhat lacy. Enough to show off her "assets", but not enough to dampen curiosity with a single look. She slipped on a large grey t-shirt over the lingerie, and the sleeve slipped down her shoulder. Her legs went bare.

When John got out of the bathroom, Sherlock was sitting on the floor, patiently waiting for John to come sit down in front of her. She could be mistaken, but it seemed as if Sherlock's eyes flashed and pupils dilated at the very sight of her. Mistaken or no, she chalked it up to a success and sat in front of Sherlock.

Spoons clinked loudly in their silence as the tension grew thicker. It was a bunch of nervousness mixed with the question "What does she expect from me tonight?" that Sherlock almost asked herself aloud. It wasn't that she was scared John would go too far--she trusted John's observations--but, what if Sherlock went too far and...creeped her out? It would be incredibly awkward for them to break up and then keep living in the same dorm. Were they even in a relationship? They had admitted their attraction to each other, and even their extreme fondness for each other, but beyond that everything else went unspoken, left for another time.

John saw Sherlock looking at the floor, and asked, "Is something wrong?"

"Are we having sex tonight?" Sherlock blurted, surprising even herself. "Forgive me...I meant to be more delicate, but the question had been in my head too long."

She laughed softly. "Well, I was hoping...that is, if you'd like to."

Sherlock bit her lip and her eyes darted to John's. A softness she should have been used to by now completely disarmed her. Her eyes roamed the girl's body, and instead of the "God, you look so damn sexy" she wanted to say, she said, "You're absolutely gorgeous."

John smiled widely. "That's not an answer..." she realized.

"It is, just not the answer to that particular question", Sherlock corrected with a smirk. "But the answer is yes."

She grinned, and took their bowls to the desk, to clean later. John took Sherlock's hand, and led her to the bottom bunk to sit down. Her other hand rested on the back of Sherlock's neck, thumb gliding over the smooth skin.

Sherlock was surprised when John's kisses were hungry and ravaging--not much unlike they've ever kissed before, so she couldn't complain. Not even when hands clumsily unbuttoned her dress shirt and pushed it down to be discarded on the floor. But when her breasts were grasped roughly, she had to stop her. Her hands wrapped around John's wrists and she held them in the air now between them. "What the hell", she gasped for air, "are you doing, John?"

She frowned. "This is what you wanted, right?"

Her eyebrow quirked in confusion. But then it occurred to her that John read her journal for tips. Which would explain why the journal had moved and no comments were made about its contents. She smiled softly. John was just as nervous as she was. "Not now. Maybe next time, or a few times after that, but not this time. Even if we didn't want to, we're going to remember this for the rest of our lives. We should make it count."

"I'm sorry...I assumed..."

"I understand", Sherlock said quietly. "Just kiss me."

Rather than the harsh plundering of mouths that they had often gone for before, their lips lazily slipped into a clumsy mingling of tongues, mouths moving into a rhythm of soft moans. Sherlock's hands ventured under John's arms, and under her oversized shirt, exploring the smoother skin underneath. It moved into a slow attempt to take off her shirt, drawing it out as long as possible so their lips need not part. Alas, it was inevitable, and thank god it was, because Sherlock's breath hitched at the red lace adorning her breasts.

Her lips traveled to John's neck as she tried to catch her breath. Her eyes wandered John's body, devoting a new place in her mind map to the curves, slight and deep, freckles, light and dark, that decorated her beautiful skin. Her hands roamed under the back of the red bra, and positioned themselves to unclasp it. Her fumbles were met with laughs from her own mouth and John's, relieving any anxiety she might have had over her inexperience.

She slipped the garment from John's arms, sparing a moment to plant a kiss on her freckled shoulder. Her gazed dared to look at the newly revealed skin, fingers trailing from John's neck to the top of her chest, to feather over her pretty pink little nipples, and even past them to travel down her stomach. Sherlock looked back up into John's eyes, a graceful smile spreading across her lips. She took John's arms and placed them behind her back before she guided her to sit on her lap. Confusion disappeared from John's face as Sherlock lowered her head to let out a teasing breath in between her breasts.

She felt John leaning back in her lap, head rolling back to look up at the wood of the top bunk. Her breath felt too harsh on John’s ever-so-lightly tanned skin, but she would not dare interrupting her ventures for a minor insecurity. She planted soft, suckling kisses as she slowly made her way to John’s left nipple. Her moves were based in curiosity and were executed with a lover’s delicacy. John shuddered as a sweep of her tongue over her nipple led to a new exposure to the suddenly chill air. She looked down to see Sherlock smirk, and she playfully huffed in reply.

Sherlock took John’s hands from her back and slowly lowered her onto the bed, settling above her. Within the confines of the bed, managed to shimmy out of her slacks and pants. She then held herself above John, trailing kisses down her stomach. When she reached her ever so lovely (and shaved?) destination, she looked up at John in both confusion and sultriness.

“I read on the internet...never mind, I won’t go into details. It’s better than the alternative”, she said in her own defense.

Sherlock laughed. In fact, she could not stop laughing. John frowned at her and started to look really insulted, but the woman did not address that. She did the silliest and sweetest thing that occurred to her; she planted a soft, chaste (if you could call it that) on the smooth mound of skin, and whispered so softly Jonn could barely hear her: “I love you, my dear.”

She took the woman’s legs and easily lifted them above her shoulders before she lowered her head to lay a daring flick of the tongue upon her clit. She lavished attention between the folds, saving John’s whining moans so she could later play them on repeat. Her tongue licked and her lips sucked, utterly in love with the sounds of desperate anguish, whispers of her name, soft begs (the most favorite of hers being “ _Oh god right there please don’t stop_ ”), and the small but sudden bucks of John’s hips as waves of ecstasy crashed over her.

She wanted to smirk at herself, but Sherlock was filled with wonder at John, who was now gasping for breaths like she just remembered she needed oxygen to live. Her head laid back, eyes gazing at the wood above her. Sherlock laughed softly.

“What?”

“You are easily the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.”

 


	10. Mycroft's Interruption

Science class was not as easy for Sherlock as you would figure. It wasn't a strain on her intelligence, no...it was the noise. The chattering her classmates insisted upon as they failed their experiments without even trying. The clicking of nails on fake wood and tapping of feet. Molly's blushes even made a noise. It was like a soft rush of air mixed with the small silence of her forgetting to breathe. Sometimes she just wanted to kiss her to silence the fancying woman. But even as a way of minimising distractions, John wouldn't like that. And not in a "you've been a naughty girl, Sherlock" way. More like a way that would end in a dorm room transfer.

Speaking of their relationship, it was still (to be frank) fucking _amazing_. Somehow their grades were not dropping because of their investment in their new "activity". And that was good, because the end of the quarter was in a few weeks.

After curfew, John and Sherlock were kissing instead of doing the English assignment they had started. It was slow and flirty without any words as to where they would stop. Sadly, those words were never spoken, because the sound of an air raid brought things to a sudden halt.

Sherlock rolled her eyes and took her mobile from her pocket and answered it. "You better have a good reason for calling me, Mycroft."

John, however, did not stop. She simply travelled to Sherlock's neck, eating a sexy smirk. She slowly unbuttoned her shirt, mouthing her milky white skin.

"I don't even want to guess what I've interrupted. I'm just calling to ask if you are coming home for Christmas." Mycroft said in her always bored tone.

"Why should I?"

"Because we're family."

"What the deuce does that have to do with Christmas?" Sherlock asked. John froze, and looked up.

"Well there's this weird thing where on major holidays people like to spend time with their relatives. Preposterous, I know, but I thought maybe we could roleplay as a normal family this year!" Mycroft rolled her eyes. "Anyways, Mummy and Daddy have decided to force you to grace us with your company this year."

Sherlock groaned. "Can I bring a date?" She hung up at the sound of her sister laughing herself into hysterics.

"What was that about?" John asked.

"Mycroft insists I spend the holidays with family. Would you like to come?"

The hesitation almost made her heart stop.

"Sure! I just..." John trailed off.

She sighed. "You just have to call your parents first. Do they know?"

"Know what?"

"That you're a lesbian. Or at least bisexual? Pansexual?" Sherlock frowned. "You know, I never did ask you what specific sexuality you are."

"I'm a bisexual, Sherlock. Or at least I think I am."

She was about to say something along the lines of "You don't think; you know", but thought better of it. Not everyone was her. And at first even she came out as bisexual before she came out as a lesbian. Which was kind of sad for bisexuals, because they lost a lot of credit because people thought of it as a stepping stone rather than an entire sexuality... and she forgot her original point. Oh, there is was. "Anyways, do they know?"

"Yes, they do. And are perfectly okay with it. So okay with it that it sort of borders on creepy", John chuckled.

"Then there shouldn't be a problem," she smiled. "But I don't want to take you away from your family on Christmas..."

John sat up straight and grinned. "It's cool. My dad celebrates Christmas on Christmas Eve because he's too impatient to wait until morning. And it's better that way, because we make Christmas a day of celebration and not all about the presents." That was when she noticed Sherlock was staring. "What?"

"Nothing, you are just...adorable."

John smiled, and brushed her hands through Sherlock's hair. "You should really do more with your hair. It looks so plain when you leave it like this", she murmured.

"It's just--"

"Just transport, I know. But a little foof and minimal makeup would make a huge difference."

She raised her eyebrow. "Foof? And I have no interest in changing my appearance to invite staring, and god forbid if  _someone_ got jealous from all the attention I'd attract."

"Oh, so true. I'd have to beat your suitors off with a crowbar!" With such wonderful laughter, John tackled Sherlock and made them both fall over. "I'd become this clingy obsessive girlfriend that would put a tracker on you and follow you everywhere." She let out a playful growl and started tickling her.

Sherlock screamed with laughter and tried to grab John's hands. "Oh god stop it I can't breathe!"

With that, she stopped, and planted a kiss on her cheek.

"Okay, I get", Sherlock paused, trying to catch her breath, "your point. But nothing too fancy."

"Thank you. Now  _everyone_ will be able to see the beautiful girl you're hiding from them. And then next thing you know I'll be the proud owner of a crowbar."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I wasn't going to write family homophobia. It's less common now, and it's not something I've experienced. I feel incredibly guilty that some people are getting kicked out of their homes, beaten up in schools and such, but I really can't do anything for them but make sure it doesn't happen to my own hypothetical future children. And I can make sure these characters don't suffer through it either. 
> 
> But that doesn't mean there won't be any conflicts; there will be. And pretty big ones.


	11. Buster the Derp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a list of things I did to procrastinate writing this:  
> Argued with strangers on the internet  
> Played Sims 3  
> Spent hours looking at mods and custom content  
> Scrolled to the bottom of 9gag  
> Simply walked into Mordor  
> Gazed at Felicia Day's beautiful face on the interwebs  
> Found three new ways to do my hair  
> Had a mineral deficiency  
> Didn't eat for twenty-four hours  
> Marveled at the universe and how awesome it is that things like pizookies exist  
> Thought about what crazy creative shit I'd eat if I was on pot  
> Roleplayed  
> Missed my dog
> 
> And...yeah.

Christmas was coming around the corner and Sherlock could not be more conflicted. It wasn't the anxiety of her girlfriend meeting her parents or the fact that Mycroft would probably choke on her dinner roll when she understands an inside joke or the thrilling "what if" scenario of them having sex with her overly-observant family in the same house or any other things that could possibly add to this run-on sentence.

It was...everything. So much had changed in the past few months. Yes, it was for the better, but it was _change._ That was not something she handled well. It took her a while to get to this point of emotional satisfaction, whereas, emotionally, other people just jumped right into a relationship without worrying about the splash. She was still gaining weight and this made her uncomfortable. But when you eat only once or twice a week for two years, a sudden snap back to “regular eating routines” would make that happen. Her clothes actually fit her body, her ribs no longer poked out dangerously, and some-crazy-how, her breasts were larger too. And if those benefits weren’t good enough, she didn’t faint anymore. Her days were filled with energy and her thoughts no longer seemed sluggish.

It was enough change to make her sick. But she braved it all and arranged her face into the expression some would mistake for happiness, because it made John happy, and somewhere in her mind she knew it was all for the better.

They got an entire month off for winter break, and when the first day of freedom arrived, John and Sherlock were both packed up and ready to go. Mycroft still questioned John’s existence, and it just tickled Sherlock when she saw the surprised look on her face. Mycroft was leaning on her car, still staring while her sister held a shit-eating grin and gave John a quick kiss on the cheek for added effect before she started to load the car.

“So...you two?”

John laughed. “That hard to believe, is it?”

“Well, you know Sherlock. Or I assume you do. I mean, are you sure she hasn’t dabbled in witchcraft or anything?”

“No, it’s all just her natural ‘charm’”, she smirked. “Actually, I’ve been trying to figure out how she acts around other people. Any opinion of mine is biased when it comes to her.”

Mycroft frowned. “But surely she must have treated you like anyone else when you first met her.”

"Are you two done gossiping? I’m ready to eat.”

Her sister stared at her, then John. “Maybe it’s _you_ that’s dabbled in witchcraft”, she whispered.

The ride home was an hour and a half long, but it passed easily for John. Listening to the sisters banter to each other was definitely entertaining. It was scary how similar they were, but weren’t. Mycroft played the role of the older sister that was condescending yet caring, and somehow Sherlock was the rebellious teenager. Mix that with an impeccable vocabulary and you have a bunch of conversations that made John giggle to herself.

“Need some help with that?” she asked as she watched Sherlock struggle to get their suitcases out of the trunk of the car.

“I got it.”

"Are you sure?"

"I'm packing on muscle too, now. I got this." Sherlock smirked as she leaned to find her center of balance as she walked to the front door. She set down a suitcase, knocked on the door. "Mummy? Daddy?"

"You still call them Mummy and Daddy?" John asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The terms 'Mum' and 'Dad' seemed insensitive when I was younger. When it came the right time to make that sort of transition, I stopped caring what other kids did and kept doing it my way."

She frowned, thinking. "I guess I can understand that. I just figured, with the way you talk about them, you would distance yourself from that sort of thing."

The door opened and revealed an older woman in her fifties, at best guess. John easily figured out it was Sherlock's mum, thanks to her tight hug (read: attempt of deadly constriction by way of arms).

"Mummy, I can't breathe. I've only been gone for a few months." Sherlock take, her face turning red.

"Ohh, but I missed you!"

"Yep...just try not to kill me..."

Eventually her mother let go, and Sherlock was no worse for wear. Luckily for John, she only went for a bro's hug (handshake, step closer, lightly brush chests as you offer one manly pat on the back). "Well, we should get inside. I know someone who's just dying to see you."

They passed through the living room, John's eyes darting every which way to take it all in. Sherlock left the suitcases at the bottom of a wooden staircase, and they continued to the back yard. Sherlock obviously knew what was waiting for them; her smile was just too knowing.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a small tri-coloured dog started bounding towards them, ears straight up as he ran through the grass. Sherlock sat down and waited for him to reach her--and when he did, he launched a full-scale assault with slobbery dog kisses as the weapons.

John looked at them both, laughing at how adorably loving he was and how Sherlock constantly moved her head in order to avoid getting kissed on the lips. "I don't want kisses", she said, and that just seemed to excite the dog even more. Sherlock managed to get the dog to sit in her lap calmly. She smiled as she pet his silky fur. "John, this is Buster. God, I missed him."

"I've never heard you talk about him."

"I don't talk about my pets. It gives off the impression that I have nothing more important to talk about."


	12. The One Where Mycroft Stares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets Sherlock's father and learns more about the Holmes family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be going deeper into this part of the story, mostly because I love writing family origins and whatnot; the sky is the limit! Also, there is an XKCD reference in here because I cannot help myself from making random references.

Sherlock’s father made an appearance at dinner, but didn’t talk much. Observing her, John knew Sherlock tried her best to convince everyone she was happy. But she couldn’t fool everyone.

Her father was a well-rounded person; when he did talk he did his best to include John in the conversation, and this she was thankful for. She couldn’t quite hold in her laughter when she thought about the things she could say to shock the shit out of him (“I have licked your daughter’s nipples” being one of them), but, quite unlike her girlfriend, she kept those thoughts on the inside.

Mycroft continued to stare at her, especially after Sherlock finished her plate in front of her family. Normally when she was home, even during the holidays, she “ate” in her room. Her dog also gained a pound during these visiting days--curious thing, wasn’t it?

The night passed by quickly; and John learned a lot in this time. Sherlock’s father used to sit at a desk and get yelled at for things he had no control over (in other words, he had a corporate job where the pay was not worth the stress). Her mother was ex-military, and had since taken up a pleasantly boring job as a part-time receptionist. Mycroft was twenty-four (almost exactly six years older than Sherlock) and about to start training for the British Secret Service.

When people started getting sleepy and headed to bed, Sherlock lead her up the stairs and to her room. John smiled when she saw she had a queen-sized bed; now they could sleep in the same bed without being squished uncomfortably.

“So, what do you think?” Sherlock asked, sitting on the edge of her bed.

John blinked several times, trying to weave out of her own thoughts. “Of what?”

“My family.”

“I like them”, she beamed. “You guys seem to really take care of each other.”

Sherlock frowned. “Your family doesn’t?”

“No, they do, but usually it comes with the feeling of being a burden on my parents. I don’t really see that here.”

“Yeah...I guess I’m lucky.” She looked down at her feet and sighed. “It makes me feel guilty sometimes.”

“Well, don’t be. You didn’t have a choice in what family you were born into. All you can do is choose what to do with the knowledge that you’re more fortunate than some.”

“I guess that’s true. Come here”, she said, holding out her hand.

John smiled and walked towards Sherlock, taking her hand. “What are we doing?” she asked, when Sherlock pulled her closer and wrapped her legs around her waist.

“We are tasting freedom, my dear.” She held a cheeky grin.

“But what about--?”

“Well, we’ll just have to be quiet, won’t we? And even if they do hear us, A: They won’t say anything, and B: They won’t really care. We’re old enough to make our own decisions. And anyways, it’s not like you’re going to get pregnant.”

John giggled. “That would be something to write home about.”

“So, how about it?”

“I swear, Sherlock, you get me to do the craziest things…” she shook her head, smiling. “Shame on you, girl.”

“Ah, so that’s a yes?”

John hummed in thought. “Mm, no. I think I’ve spoiled you too much.”

She pouted, letting go of John’s hand as she started unbuttoning her shirt. “Please, Miss Watson? I’ve been a good girl, haven’t I?”

 _Oh, so_ this _is how you’re going to play it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I am TOTALLY teasing you. I have both the time and the energy to finish this little bit of smut I've started, but I've decided to dangle it in front of your nose. But don't worry, it'll be here next chapter. I'm not a monster.


End file.
